


Angels Lead You In

by cellostiel



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scars, Trans Character, Trans Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 23:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20416057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellostiel/pseuds/cellostiel
Summary: But as Aziraphale watches, the glow gets stronger, slowly taking shape in a distinct ring around Crowley's head with the same faintness to it that his wings carry. Somehow, Crowley still has a halo. Though it's not like any halo Aziraphale has ever seen.~Late one night, Aziraphale catches Crowley still awake, and they talk about the Fall.





	Angels Lead You In

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley being an archangel before the Fall is a hc that has a special, painful place in my heart. Which one was he? In this fic, it doesn't matter, so you can imagine whatever you like. I also have a vague hc that Beelzebub was also an archangel/seraphim, or some other kind of higher-ranking angel.
> 
> I listened to Hear You Me _a lot_ while writing this, and it's a very bittersweet song that, while it may not match lyric-wise, definitely matches this fic in terms of tone.
> 
> Please enjoy!!

"Please." Crowley pleads as She starts taking each of his wings in Her hands. "What did I do? Tell me what I did so I can understand!"

God heaves a heavy, unknowably pained sigh. "My love, you are doing it _ now." _

"What- asking questions? You're doing this because I _ asked questions?!" _

"You know," God says, one of Her infinite hands coming up under his jaw to cup his face. "You're one of my favorites. I'm not supposed to have those, I know, but I can't help it." She strokes another hand through his hair, twining the curls around Her fingers. In a tone that could almost be read as apologetic, She says, "There is so much planned for you; this is just one step on your path. Still, I hate to have to do this."

"Then don't!" Crowley says desperately. "Don't do this! Please!"

Her hands hold ten of his wings now, leaving only the pair at the very center untouched. "Yes, I think two should do." She says.

_ "Please! _ I'm sorry - I didn't mean for it to be this way. I wasn't- I wasn't _ trying _ to be bad. I just had questions. _ I'm sorry_. _ " _

"Oh, my love," She caresses his cheek in almost a loving gesture, but he can feel Her grip on his wings tighten. "Sometimes forgiveness just isn't in the cards."

There's a sharp pain in his back, a scream ripping from his throat, then he's falling, falling, down and down and _ down _, and he can't right himself with only two wings.

~*~

Aziraphale realizes with a start that he'd begun dozing off in the middle of his book; try as he might, he can't recall what the last five pages said, so he flips back to the beginning of the chapter and closes the book around its marker before setting it on the nightstand. A glance at the clock tells him it's just shy of three in the morning, and he casts a guilty look Crowley's way. He hopes the light didn't keep him up.

He needn't have worried, however, because Crowley is sound asleep next to him, occasionally muttering in his sleep. Aziraphale smiles, reaching out to smooth down an errant lock of hair. Crowley settles instantly, letting out a soft sigh under Aziraphale's gentle touch. Since that whole dreadful Armageddon business and being able to finally let their guards down somewhat, Aziraphale has discovered just how starved for affection Crowley has been this whole time. Crowley will casually insert himself into Aziraphale's space, be it legs across Aziraphale's lap while he reads, leaning on Aziraphale's shoulder when they sit on the couch, or pressing against Aziraphale's back and watching over his shoulder as he makes tea. Any modicum of physical affection Aziraphale gives him in return has him melting like a cat being scratched behind the ears, a warm, contented look settling on his face. 

Aziraphale scratches softly at Crowley's scalp the way he knows Crowley likes, and Crowley lets out a quiet, happy sigh. Crowley has never looked so at peace as he has these past few months they've begun living together. It's quite a good look on him. 

Crowley shifts in his sleep, and the shoulder of his tank top shifts, exposing more of his back. Aziraphale glances at it idly, then stops when he sees, peeking out from under the fabric, what appears to be _ scars_.

Their bodies aren't really supposed to scar, though Crowley has kept the ones under his pecs for reasons too complex for Aziraphale to understand. If Crowley has more scars, then they must be special enough to him to _ want _them there.

With delicate fingers, Aziraphale moves his hand to brush lightly over one of the scars. They're rather worryingly close to Crowley's wings, but he just saw those when Crowley stopped time at the airbase, and they seemed fine enough then.

As Aziraphale makes contact, Crowley shudders, and his wings flutter partly into this plane of matter, just enough that Aziraphale can see them. He lets out a small breath of relief and gently strokes the base of one of the wings, letting his own matter slip planes to meet them halfway. Crowley murmurs something in his sleep, and Aziraphale smooths down feathers like he did for Crowley's hair, watching as Crowley settles back down. 

"Oh, my dear," Aziraphale breathes, tracing the scars once more. "Whatever happened to you here?"

Almost as though in reply, Crowley shudders once more, this time stronger, and a faint light appears above his head. Aziraphale stares, wondering if his eyes are playing tricks. He didn't think demons _ had _ halos anymore - he'd rather thought they had been ripped away when they Fell. But as Aziraphale watches, the glow gets stronger, slowly taking shape in a distinct ring around Crowley's head with the same faintness to it that his wings carry. Somehow, Crowley still has a halo. Though it's not like any halo Aziraphale has ever seen.

The halo _ burns, _flames licking at Crowley's hair, almost the same color as the hair itself when sunlight catches it. And the way it orbits Crowley's head… pieces seem to come undone and reform, like the halo is in a constant state of falling apart and stubbornly, endlessly repairing itself. Maybe it's because of this, or because of the flames, or because of the general shock of it all, that Aziraphale doesn't notice at first that Crowley doesn't just have a single ring, or even a Principality's three. No, he has _ six. _ They're thinner than Aziraphale's own, but still just as glorious, even broken and consumed by fire as they are.

_ Is Crowley a Seraphim? _ Or, well, _ was _ he, before all that got stripped away? If so, then he should have six sets of wings, shouldn't he? One for each ring? Aziraphale himself compresses his three sets into one for convenience's sake, but he has to put effort into it; he can't imagine anyone keeping it up while they sleep. Yet Crowley only has a single set draped around him.

Aziraphale looks at the scars, dread sinking his gut. He chances a look back at Crowley's halo, and finds his suspicion confirmed: at the very center, tucked close against the crown of Crowley's head, a single ring spins still intact. Oh, _ Crowley. _

Laying down, Aziraphale shuts the light off with an idle Miracle before pulling Crowley to him, wrapping his arms around Crowley's chest and burying his face in the back of his neck. He lets all of his wings partially into this plane, using them to wrap around the both of them in a feathered cocoon. Crowley shivers, so Aziraphale pulls him closer, placing a hand over Crowley's heart. Crowley likes to say he doesn't have one, that it was boiled away when he became a demon, but Aziraphale can feel it beating in his chest the same as anyone else's. 

~

Aziraphale rarely dreams, and usually when he does, they end up being more memories than anything else. This one has him back in Heaven, back Before, following Gabriel as the archangel takes him to the armory. 

There, speaking to the Quartermaster, is another archangel - Aziraphale can tell because of the spectacular halo orbiting their head and the six pairs of wings tucked elegantly against their back. The two angels turn as Gabriel and Aziraphale approach, the Quartermaster giving a respectful nod while the other archangel smiles pleasantly.

"Gabriel." the archangel says. "What brings you out here? I thought you already had a sword."

"Three of them, actually." Gabriel says primly. A touch pridefully. Then he clears his throat and gestures to Aziraphale. "Aziraphale here has been trusted with guarding the gates of Eden and all its contents. We're here to get him a body and sword."

"Not exactly sure what it needs guarding _ from _," says the archangel, looking to Aziraphale, "but congratulations all the same. High honor."

"Yes, I'm very grateful that the Almighty is trusting me with this." Aziraphale says. "Very kind of Her."

"I'm sure you'll do well." the archangel says. 

"Ah, thank you." Aziraphale ducks his head respectfully, but can't help a curious peek as the archangel and Gabriel resume speaking to each other. The archangel - whose name Aziraphale really should ask for soon - is stunning, even for an angel. Their hair falls down past their shoulders in gentle red waves that glow like rubies in the light, their eyes shine like gold, or maybe amber, and flecks of gold are scattered across their skin, shining like tiny stars. Their six halos shine brightly (brighter than Gabriel or Uriel's and on par with Michael's, Aziraphale would say - were he brave enough, of course) and under the pearly white plumage of their wings, Aziraphale can see strong, lithe muscles.

An angel approaches the archangels and murmurs something to the one Aziraphale doesn't know. They nod, and say something Aziraphale doesn't quite catch, along the lines of, "be right there." They turn to Gabriel, saying, "Well, I must be going. Good seeing you, Gabe." Then the archangel meets Aziraphale's gaze, and Aziraphale startles, trying to seem like he wasn't just ogling his superior. An amused smile plays on the archangel's face as they say, "Best of luck, Aziraphale. I'm sure you'll do us all proud." 

"Y-yes! Thank you." He nods respectfully once more, and keeps his head down as the archangel passes by him on their way out. He could swear that the archangel slows - ever so slightly - when they reach Aziraphale, and he thinks he feels their feathers brush - subtly but deliberately - against his own.

"Be seeing you around." the archangel says under their breath, and Aziraphale suppresses a shiver. Not one of trepidation, he finds. He's not sure _ what _ he feels as he glances over his shoulder at the retreating back of the archangel, his heart pounding in his chest. Whatever it is, it's… _ exciting. _

"Aziraphale." Gabriel calls. Aziraphale shakes himself and hurries to meet Gabriel at the armory counter. 

"Um," Aziraphale begins, glancing at Gabriel as he signs for his body and sword. "Which archangel was that, again?"

Gabriel barks a laugh. "Good one, Aziraphale! Acting like you don't know all of the archangels. That would be so embarrassing. I mean, what kind of Principality doesn't know all the archangels by name? Hilarious." 

Aziraphale laughs along awkwardly. "Oh, yes. You know me. Always the joker…" 

~

When he wakes, the first thing he notices is the absence of Crowley in his arms. He blinks awake, propping himself up on an elbow to look for the demon. Crowley is sat on the edge of the bed, silhouette hunched. His wings still sit in half-existence, drooping limply against his back and spilling over the sheets.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asks softly. "Are you alright?"

Crowley flinches a little, like he'd forgotten Aziraphale was there. "I'm fine." he mutters after a moment. "Sorry to wake you. Go back to bed." 

Aziraphale pushes himself up to sitting, saying, "You don't need to apologize. What's going on?" Crowley stays silent, curling in on himself more, his wings pulling in to wrap around himself. Aziraphale shifts closer, gently asking, "Crowley, may I touch you?" Crowley hesitates, then nods. Aziraphale carefully winds his arms under Crowley's, wrapping around his middle and pressing himself to Crowley's back. A shaky breath escapes Crowley, and he clings to Aziraphale's arms, uncurling just enough to lean back into Aziraphale's weight. Aziraphale presses a light kiss to Crowley's shoulder, says, "My dear, please talk to me." Crowley drags in another unsteady breath. Aziraphale doesn't think he's ever seen Crowley like this before. He wonders how many nights Crowley has woken like this, how many times Crowley has had to be his own comfort, how many times there was nothing to do but wait out the pain alone. He finds himself holding Crowley tighter.

"I uh," Crowley starts, then clears his throat and tries again. "I dream sometimes. About Before." Crowley doesn't need to elaborate for Aziraphale to know which 'before' he's talking about. "Usually just… vague things. Drinking ambrosia, blessing holy water, making nebulas… Something Michael said to piss me off. Something Lucifer said to me before he started being too good for the rest of us." Crowley takes a steadying breath, continues, "Other times, I know what's coming. I can taste the sulfur, I can see Lucifer's horns forming, I can smell the brimstone, but I can't _ do _ anything. I have to watch as it all falls apart." He grips Aziraphale's arm tightly, grits out, "Even after I wake up, I can feel Her hands on my wings." 

Aziraphale's stomach twists. He's seen what the Almighty can do when She's upset, has seen how She exacts Divine Justice on humans. He can't even begin to imagine what it must have been like to become the focus of Her wrath. 

"Deserved it, though, didn't I?" Crowley says bitterly. "Lucifer got to repurpose his wings, Beelzebub got to keep six of theirs. I must have done something truly reprehensible to deserve what I got." 

"I can't believe that." Aziraphale breathes. Crowley goes still. Aziraphale considers what he was trying to say, then elaborates, "I don't believe that you could ever do anything to make _ that _ a fitting punishment."

"No?" Crowley says woodenly. 

"No. You have taken credit for many atrocities, yes, but the worst that you have done, I have done as well, and I can say, Crowley, without a doubt, that you have done _ nothing _ to deserve what She did to you." 

Crowley lets out a hollow sound that could be mistaken for a laugh. "Careful, Angel. I think you're getting pretty close to blasphemy there. She's not overly fond of that, you know." 

"I don't care." Aziraphale says, and finds that he really doesn't. "What She did to you was _ cruel,_ and wholly unnecessary. Casting you out and turning you into a demon wasn't bad enough?" Aziraphale pulls Crowley even closer, wrapping his wings around them both, and says, "You didn't _ deserve _ that, Crowley."

Crowley is trembling. "Didn't I?" he says, almost desperately. 

"You did not." 

"Then why did She do it?"

"I don't know." Aziraphale admits. 

Crowley huffs. "Part of Her Ineffable Plan then, I suppose."

"Maybe." Aziraphale says. "Or maybe that had nothing to do with it at all." He turns his face to rest his cheek on Crowley's shoulder, says, "Humans hurt each other terribly all the time with no greater purpose in mind, and they were made in Her image. Who's to say some of Her Divine Justices weren't just because She felt like it?" 

Crowley is silent for some time, and Aziraphale lets him be. Eventually, Crowley says, very quietly, "You're being pretty uncharitable to Her. I thought She could do no wrong."

"God does wrong all the time." Aziraphale says. "I'm not so naive as to think otherwise. Since Armageddon didn't happen, since Heaven decided I'm their enemy, I've done some thinking. I believe the Almighty has a Great Plan for everything - several, in fact - and I believe that she loves all of her creations. I also believe she has a funny way of showing it. A part of me has always understood why someone like you Fell, Crowley. If things had gone a bit differently, if I had been just a bit less afraid of Gabriel, or a bit more eager to hear Lucifer's ideas, I would have Fallen, too." He feels Crowley's head twist to look at him, but he keeps his face carefully turned away, unsure if he wants to see the expression on Crowley's face. "God has done wrong, and I don't think it's a bad thing to acknowledge that. If anything, She should be open to an end-of-century performance review." A sound escapes Crowley that sounds a bit more like an actual laugh. 

"Could you imagine." he muses, "Gabriel and Michael would probably relish that, if they weren't so scared of Her."

"They do love their performance reviews, don't they?" Aziraphale chuckles. 

"They do." Crowley groans. "You know Michael invented the self-evaluation? If anyone deserved to Fall, it was them." 

"Such a terrible thing to say," Aziraphale says, though it's only to tease - honestly, he agrees. 

"You know," Crowley says softly, "I think we met once, you and me. Before." 

"Oh?" Aziraphale says, surprised. Though, on some level, it isn't surprising at all. 

"Yeah." Crowley says. "Not sure you'd even remember. Not sure it matters. I wasn't… really 'me' yet. Not the me you know. Different name, different hair, different _ eyes. _ Really only my face stayed the same."

Aziraphale thinks about his dream, about the scars and halo, and says, "You were an archangel, weren't you?" 

"I was." 

Humming softly to himself, Aziraphale noses at Crowley's shoulder, then tells him, "If you want to tell me about it, I'll listen. But if you don't, then I don't need to hear it. I love _ you _ , Crowley, as you are now. I love your name, your hair, your _ eyes. _ I hate how much you had to lose to get here, but I am so, _ so _ glad you are here with me, the way that you are now."

Crowley shudders, slipping his hand into Aziraphale's and twining their fingers. 

~*~

The day the humans leave Eden, Crowley wanders the Garden, taking it in with the knowledge that this will probably be the last time anyone gets to see it. Movement up to his left catches his eye: an angel standing atop the wall, white wings fluttering nervously. Something about the white-blond hair strikes Crowley as familiar, so he slithers up to join the angel.

"Well, that went down like a lead balloon." he says, to make conversation. The angel laughs for a few seconds, clearly to be polite, then frowns and says,

"Sorry. What was that?" 

His voice confirms Crowley's suspicion: this is that adorable Principality that Gabriel introduced him to Before. The one that regarded him with a distinct _ interest. _The one Crowley meant to come back and find later. The one angel with actual life in his eyes that didn't Fall. 

He clearly doesn't recognize Crowley. That's fine, he can work with that. It's preferable, actually. Crowley doesn't want to remember who he was Before, either.

Eventually the rain lets up, and they lose their excuse to stand so close to each other. Crowley lingers in Aziraphale's space even as Aziraphale lowers his wing, and Crowley is almost overwhelmed with the urge to touch Aziraphale, to push his drenched hair away from his forehead and tease him for sheltering a demon from the rain and completely forgetting about himself. That might spook him, though, and Crowley doesn't want that, so he keeps his hands to himself and says,

"Well, suppose I should be going." 

"Oh. Um, yes, I suppose so." Aziraphale says.

Neither of them move away. 

"I'm looking forward to working with you." Crowley says. 

"Against me, you mean." Aziraphale says, though he's fighting a smile. "You know, good versus evil and all that." 

"Still." Crowley eyes the angel and, against his better judgement, says, "Be seeing you around," nudging his wing against Aziraphale's. 

A blush lights up Aziraphale's face as he stammers, "Oh- I- yes. Yes, I suppose you will." And there's that look again - that interest he knows he shouldn't show but can't seem to hide, either. "I look forward to- to thwarting you." 

"Please do." Crowley says, grinning. 

~

Crowley reaches out and smooths an errant curl away from Aziraphale's forehead. The angel fell asleep a while ago, his need for routine overriding his worry for Crowley and pulling him under. Crowley smiles to himself, playing with the feather-soft lock of hair in his fingers and wondering how on Earth he got so lucky. Not just that he gets to know someone as amazing as Aziraphale, but that the angel actually returns his feelings. That someone like Aziraphale could love someone like him, could want to _ be _ with him.

Aziraphale's arms tighten around Crowley in his sleep, almost like he can sense when Crowley is being self-deprecating, even when unconscious. Crowley shifts impossibly closer, pressing a soft kiss to smooth out the furrow in Azoraphale's brow. Aziraphale relaxes almost instantly, nuzzling into crowley's shoulder and sighing against it. Crowley rests his chin on the top of Aziraphale's head, letting his eyes droop towards closed. 

In the morning, Crowley will rise with the sun like clockwork, and he'll make Aziraphale breakfast in bed. Aziraphale will have that put-upon look he gets when _ he's _ supposed to be the one doing the caretaking, and Crowley will tell him that letting him take care of his angel _ is _ caring for him. Aziraphale will mutter an acquiescence and accept the pampering on the condition that Crowley share and that Aziraphale gets to feed him. Crowley will happily comply, and will lie next to his angel in bed, watching the way the light plays off his white-blonde curls, listening to him ramble through mouthfuls of food about the latest book he's reading, and thinking about how much he loves him. Aziraphale will notice him staring and smile, pausing to feed Crowley a bite of breakfast and follow it with a kiss. They'll spend a lazy day in bed together, wrapped up in each other and in Aziraphale's wings. Crowley will drift off in the midday sun, his head pillowed on Aziraphale's chest and the angel's hands playing idly with his hair. Aziraphale will murmur some suggestion of Crowley growing it out again, and Crowley will consider it, but only if Aziraphale promises to braid it for him whenever he wants. Aziraphale will admonish him for being spoiled, but his smile and tone will give him away.

Crowley will sound a quiet 'I love you' against Aziraphale's skin, and Aziraphale will pet his hair and say it back, just as quiet, and Crowley will fall asleep with the warmth of Aziraphale's love a solid, comforting weight in his chest.

That will all come tomorrow. For now, Crowley holds Aziraphale close and rests easy in the safety of his angel's arms.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me at @cellostielwrite on twitter or @cellostiel on tumblr!


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